New Address!

If I still indeed have any followers - I have changed locales and am back in business. I look forward to seeing you in my new digs: http://sensualwordsandtouch.wordpress.com/
xo

Gawain

I still want him to pin me down and fuck me. I want him to ride me hard, take me like he has no control, no other means of release than to slam his aching cock into my welcoming cunt.
After two years this has not changed. My fantasies, nameless strangers, Hollywood pretty boys, hot men at work, on the street - all have faded into a vague recollection of what used to inspire my writing here.
Now it is about him. His body. His hands. His tattoos. His enormous cock that took months for me to accommodate completely.
It's almost alarming to me that someone can take over my desire, my daydreams, my nights so utterly. Perhaps it's the distance - the fact that I cannot have him whenever I please.
I've worn out my favourite vibrator with slick anticipation of our next encounter. Starting off into space at work, practically feeling his fingers slipping into my panties, flicking my clit as he pulls them down. Willing him to appear before me, bending me over my desk and slamming into me.
He wants to hear about my fantasies - that I want to service him in front of a group of other men. To have him watch while I suck on his friends cock then fuck me from behind. His thrusts shoving his friends cock deeper into my throat, deliciously gagging me while I suck and moan.
I can tell him anything - how I fellated another woman's husband, about the positions I fucked the man I was with while we were on a "break," how many cocks I've seen, touched, licked and ridden.
I want him here now - pulling my hair, his tongue between my legs, grinding his beautiful cock into my throbbing cunt...

So This is What it Means to Be a Graduate Student

So this is what I've done the past two years:

Started a graduate program.
Met a man with whom I have regular sex.

My new pinup girl outfit - I am dying to find the
time to actually go out and wear it.

Made out with a girl.
Made out with another girl.
Made out with yet another girl, which included second base.
Had sex with a different man.
Went back to regular sex with the original man.
Took a course on pornography and erotica.
Fellated another woman's husband.
Went to a sex club.
Went to a bigger sex club.
Went on a trip with a hot sex blogger.
Had two men show us their penises (penii?) outside of a club.
Met many nude models.
Am now considering joining the nude models by doing my own photo session to be posted on their website.

I have less than a month to go before my degree is completed.
And then? I will learn to write for fun again. I miss this place.
Will be back soon.

When in Rome II

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I didn't completely strip. I was wearing just the cutest little matching bra and panty set, so I mostly ignored the (very ugly) towels supplied and strutted around in that.

So, Kimberley, Topaz, The Victim and I crawled up onto a bed close to the entrance and looked around in curiosity. Dimly lit, many beds, water, condoms, discreet security walking through, and couples fucking. It was amazing. I was genuinely impressed with how...professional and kind of classy it was.

And Skippy. Oh Skippy. Stroking mine and Topaz's legs and taking it like a champ when we made it clear that neither of us had any intention of fucking him tonight. (Although Topaz implied that I should give him a mercy fuck. No thank you.)

And then I saw him. This dark chiseled specimen wandering around just kind of watching everyone. The girls (and The Victim) all told me that I should go "talk" to him - but I was temporarily intimidated by the prospect. Kimberley was increasinly engaged with The Victim and eventually Topaz and I decided to head back out. Kimberley handed me her shoes and her bra for the road and off we went, leaving Skippy behind (I kid you not) high fiving the fucking couples for a job well done.

I mentioned to her on the way out that we should have made out just to mess with him and she said that she would have been up for it. This was good to know.

Security stopped us as we were dressing to ask about Skippy. It seems that men should be attached to someone in order to be back there. Apparently voyeurism isn't permitted? (Which even now makes me wonder what Chiseled Specimen was doing back there, as he appeared alone). We declared that Skippy was certainly not with us, and gave him leave to do whatever he wanted with him (although secretly hoping that he wouldn't kick him out, since that would mean he would come find us).

Another drink later and Topaz was catigating me for my slut fail moment. Not any worse than I was castigating myself of course. With a shot of liquid courage, and the threat of last call looming we decided to head back to at least proposition Chiseled Specimen so the night wouldn't be a total waste (for me anyways).

So back we went, undressed again and met Chiseled Specimen in the hallway. I admit, up close he wasn't quite the specimen that he had seemed from a distance, but I plunged ahead anyhow. I said something inane and he invited the two of to the back. Topaz trailing along in support, knowing I wasn't quite up for going it on my own. I confess, to me he seemed a lot more interested in her than in my charms, and who could blame him, but he certainly didn't seem turned off by my attentions nonetheless.

Topaz, however is much more perceptive to men's signals than I, and clearly noticed that he was much more interested in watching than participating. Before I knew it, she was straddling me and had her luscious tongue in my mouth. And my darling readers, that was the highlight of the night for me. Topaz. Her lips, her tongue, her breasts and her body. They changed all my perceptions on being with a woman.

At that point I couldn't have cared less about Chiseled Specimen. She could have gone on kissing me all night. I craved more and more as the moments passed. I could see Kimberley watching us, and the Specimen was rapt. I touched her breasts and could feel myself heating up and my breathing increase...

Skippy showed up. Commentating. High Fiving.

Fuck.

Both of us started laughing and that was it. We tried to resume, but really? The moment was gone.

It was the end of the night anyhow.

We all headed out, got dressed and met up in the ladies room to debrief. It was a bizarre, hilarious, fun and profound evening. One that re-programmed some of my own proclivities and fantasies. For that, I have Topaz to thank. And Kimberley for her sense of wild liberation - if she hadn't been so carefree and open to the experience, my life would not have been so affected.

I can't wait to go back.

When in Rome I

Kimberley and Topaz have already introduced this tale with their typical sexy style, so I won't bore you with too many details...However we've all decided to finish the story together, so when you're done here, make sure you head over there and there to hear their perspectives if you haven't already....

And don't forget to stop by on Tuesday when we post the finales....

So the teeniest little g-string of an intro before we move onto the dirty finale:
I was sent to Toronto for a conference, which obviously meant I had to catch up with my girls. I have to re-iterate - I absolutely adore these women, and let's not forget the delicious Aurore too. Sadly the only thing preventing the weekend from going down in history as utter wanton perfection was her absence from our exploits.

So while I extended my weekend by an extra day to misbehave with my ladies, unfortunately Topaz only had the Friday evening free. I resigned myself to an incoherent session the next morning and thanked the goddess that my boss had already left...

Blah blah primping, blah blah dinner. The only bit of random trivia I will add to what you've already read? Stay up stockings? Great for posing, seducing and sitting. Not so much for walking, and definitely not dancing. So the girls were kind enough to let me walk back to the hotel after dinner to change into something a bit tighter and slinkier (and practical-er = not falling down) to match my own little black dress and off we went...

In we strutted, armed with fake names (let's face it, "Duchess" just won't do in the real world, so I went with my standby, "Belinda") and prepared for an anthropological sexperience.

And as Kimberley mentioned? Lame and potentially deflating when we first walked in. Very sparse. And greeted by Skippy. Who was indeed preoccupied with offering us shooters (Lovelies, I am not a huge drinker, so the shooter that I loved back in my undergrad days? Apparently it did not evolve with my supposed "sophisticated" palate. No more Mexican Snowshoes in the Duchess's future). Skippy was also obsessed with whether we had been there before and our marital statuses. However, (dork though I may be) we were much cooler than him for our first time there, and I do not believe for a moment that it was his first time there in 10 years as he claimed.

Sadly, Skippy seemed attached to us, and while Kimberley quickly spotted her potential victim, Topaz and I were far too polite to ditch him, and it was certainly too empty to slink off unnoticed. So, we decided to make the best of it and make him entertain us. We sent him off to dance and admired Kimberley in action.

However it wasn't long before she skipped back to gleefully tell us about "the back." It seems we were missing out on the real action. Obviously that was where we had to be. So, ditching our drinks we queued up to head around the corner. In retrospect it must have been a bit of an amusing sight to see the pack of us all lining up like tourists to see what there was to see. (Of course with Skippy in tailing after us like a puppy).

I was closer to the back of the group, so suddenly all I saw was Kimberley and her victim taking off their clothes in the locker room.

?

I looked at Topaz confusedly. Did I miss something?

Yes, as it happens I did. One has to store all their things in a locker and enter the back in a state of dishabille. Topaz and I looked at each other in consideration. But Kimberley was just so nonchalant about it, with a quizzical "what's the hold-up?" look on her face so we just laughed and followed her example. What else was I there for after all? When in Rome...

Exploration

She had very specific ideas on what her fantasy sex partner would comprise of – ideas she was more than happy to share with the rest of the world through her writing. However in retrospect, this man, this fantasy partner, this ideal, was more of an amalgam of body parts, crafted more as a concept in functionality than as an actual person. This fantasy had no face, no form, and no personality. It had hands, a tongue and lips, a cock and an unquestioning will to please her. No man she’d met had ever come close to approaching what she was looking for, so no trace of past lover touched this fictional amalgam. An amalgam of body parts, vignettes and unfulfilled wishes.

Then she met him. A man truly surreal in his seeming perfection. She was shocked at how precisely he satisfied her unspoken desires. Without prompting he demanded what he wanted from her – he verbally wooed her with his lust and fantasies for her and she was intoxicated by the promise of such an ideal match. Yet, she was also relieved when she found that he had some proclivities, some lusts that she didn’t share, or had never considered. For him to match her too perfectly would have been unnerving – like he was indeed an unreal fancy – ephemeral, illusory…untouchable.
Suddenly her fantasy had a face, a body and its own demands. Unexpectedly, this didn’t take away from its appeal. It simply added nuance and more complex dimension to her imaginings. It pushed her to consider scenarios she’d never encountered. Scenarios both frightening and alluring. Scenarios which forced her to explore her own liberality and comfort zones.

And the reality of being with him – of having him use her in any way he pleased, and being open to hearing what she wanted in return without shock or judgement. To be confronted with the reality of what one had previously only fantasized about is more disconcerting than one might expect. How often in life do we ever really get what we want?

She had occasionally doubted herself – that her own, seeming open-mindedness and adventurousness might actually be a façade. An identity that she wanted to play at, but could never actually adopt with any seriousness or ease. However her appetite has now been whetted, and she found myself craving more. She wanted to explore her sexual identity with more depth and urgency now than she had before. To indulge in both his requests and her own fantasies with more eagerness than she would have thought.

She wanted to taste a woman’s tongue again, suck on her breasts, explore each other’s bodies and feel each other’s heat, wetness and involuntary pressing and writhing against each other. She wanted to suck on a man`s cock while he watched – to perform for him, make him hard and have him fuck her while she still had the other man in her mouth. She wanted to bring him to the sex club that she had explored – she couldn’t get the thought of fucking him for an audience out of her head; nothing even elaborate or particularly kinky, the exhibitionism of it was enough.

She was distracted by this complex sexual “awakening.” This new partner and these preliminary new experiences didn’t scare her – they tempted her. They teased her to do more, explore more, imagine more. She wanted to do this beside him, with him. Some experiences were best shared – for and with each other. Others were for her or him alone. She didn’t want to limit him in his own explorations or curiosities. Surely they couldn’t fulfill each other’s every kink or wish – but to guide and experience and learn with each other – the intimacy and decadent indulgence of it was delirium-creating in and of itself….

Insignificant

More than one ex-boyfriend has called me an ice princess. I can't stand completely immersing myself in someone else's life, nor can I handle someone constantly calling me and wanting to see me every single day.

I considered myself an intelligent independent woman. The ad I posted online indicated that I wanted a life that was separate, but compatible. However, I made it clear: I didn't want to be neglected, and this wasn't an invitation for us to take each other for granted. I just didn't want to be smothered yo.

He was perfect on screen. Witty. Intelligent. Quirky. Sexually open.

He came over early on, took control, did things to my body I had never imagined, and had me constantly distracted with the thought of being with him. Riding him. Having him take me. Being his slave. Anything he wanted. I told him I was his toy to do with as he chose.

I brought him to my office - greeted him outside in a little dress and no panties as instructed. He fucked me a few different ways, and made us late to pick up my bff's husband while he took me one more time.

Even now? I want him. I want him at my door, not talking. Just naked. I want him to jerk my head back, slip his fingers in my panties and rub my clit. To want to rape him - to rip off his clothes, damage them as he's done to mine. To ride him until his eyes roll back and he's incoherent.

But the neglect? It was there. Oh it was there. To end up in this impossible situation where I can't ask him for time, or communication or sex. To be in some sort of undefined thing where I get absolutely nothing, but to feel like a burdensome pet that he offers a few scraps to when it's somewhat convenient for him.

Humiliating. The core of that word? Humility. I have learned to be humble. To know what it is to be absolutely nothing to someone. To have so little of their regard that they can't even be bothered to fuck me, when they know I'm perfectly willing.

And even worse? To know that I'm still willing. To be still wet and throbbing for him. To have the memory of what he's done to me. To imagine the potential of what we could have done. What we said we would do.

Nothing in life comes with a guarantee. But I feel cheated. Like I had this sensual gift dangled in front of me. Taunting me. Teasing me with it's tantalizing closeness. And then to have it taken away with no explanation, and such coldness.

To feel cheap and used voluntarily? Can be delicious. But this? To feel so utterly insignificant?

Now, I just feel thoroughly ashamed for allowing myself to feel this way.